and now I just sit in silence
by jennamichelle
Summary: The roof is quiet at night. (now with multiple chapters: ENJOY; WARNING: suicidal themes)
1. I ponder of something great

author note: Okay, so, this is my first ever fan fiction I've completed or anything like that. I know, I know, its super short! But this idea came to me and I just started writing.. and I really like it. This song is based on two songs, Blue Lips by Regina Spektor, and Car Radio by Twenty One Pilots.

thank you for reading this story, and I really hope you like it. go easy on me!

and sorry about the ending. I'm not good at dialogue.

* * *

_"Sometimes quiet is violent;_  
_I find it hard to hide it._  
_My pride is no longer inside,_  
_It's on my sleeve._  
_My skin will scream,_  
_Reminding me of_  
_Who I killed inside my dream._  
_I hate this car that I'm driving._  
_There's no hiding for me;_  
_I'm forced to deal with what I feel._  
_There is no distraction to mask what is real."_

* * *

Have you ever felt your heart crumble into dust at the sight of something? Feeling it start to splinter first down the center, and then all along the sides until your heart was just a pile of broken glass?

And then its gone, your heart has disappeared.

You can feel where the life-sustaining, vital, symbolic organ used to be. But the space where it previously existed is now filled with a black hole, consistently sucking out any flame of happiness and hope you get. Like a never-ending, pitch-black, vacuum.

I know that feeling. I know that feeling well.

She's happy. Her smile is bright and big, and her brown doe eyes are filled with a sparkle and peacefulness I would never be able to give her. When we're talking, just me and her (on the rare occasions she actually decides to acknowledge that I exist), I can pretend that nothings wrong in the world and she can still be mine. I still have a chance to win her over with my foolishness and awkward, lopsided grin. I can make every other girl swoon at a flip of my hair- why can't I even get her to notice me anymore?

But then he walks into the room. And I'm forgotten.

You know that feeling you get when you give your heart away to someone and, even though they really don't want it, they never give it back? They're to cruel and mean to put you at ease and to fill the void that you created just for them.

That's the feeling I get when I'm alone.

When I look out the glass window separating me from her, and I want to tell her everything- my mom's dying, Ally. My dad lost his job, Ally. I'm moving, Ally. I love you, Ally. - But my feet don't work anymore. I can't move my legs, my arms are paralyzed, and I forget how to speak. It would be worthless to try anyways; I know she wouldn't care like she used to. And if she did care, even for a single second, she'd suddenly see him and then I'd be left again.

Out of everyone in the world that could've left me, I would've never thought Ally would be the one to do it first.

I go over everything that I've ever said to her in my head constantly, thinking maybe I said something, maybe she never actually was my friend, maybe I was just imagining her loyalty, her love, her. But I didn't say anything wrong. So, I figure she never cared.

He was always there. Now that I think about it, he was always there. She'd bring him up in conversations, stare at him when we went out to lunch, chew her hair when he stopped by to say hi. He was always there, and I always hated him. I just realized why to late.

Dallas, why did you have to like her?

Out of all the girls in Miami, out of the girls in Florida, in the entire world- you had to choose my Ally. You had to steal her from me.

The roof is quiet at night.

It's peaceful, silent. It's a good place to think. I don't remember when I started coming up here- was it when she told me she loved him? Was it when he asked her out using one of my songs? - But I find myself staring at the sky on top of Sonic Boom more than I walk on the ground. Ally doesn't know that I come up here. Why would Ally know? She doesn't know anything about me anymore.

The look in her eyes when she told me she wasn't going to write songs for me anymore is tattooed into my mind.

When I close my eyes, that's all I see. Determination, passion, and- oh, what's that? Her signature "get over yourself Austin, you can do this on your own" look. My favorite.

Two weeks. Two weeks later, I found out she was writing songs for him instead.

I guess that's fair. He's her boyfriend, and I'm definitely not her boyfriend. God, if I was..

I've never been suicidal. I always thought I had a pretty good life. Loving parents, good friends, and a singing career.. what could be better?

Nothing. That's why it got worse.

My dad's an alcoholic now, Ally. Did you know that? I haven't gone home in three weeks. I've slept at Dez's house on the nights I'm not up on the roof. Dez doesn't mind; he's worried about me. He thinks I'm depressed, Ally. Me, depressed? Please.

Sitting on the edge of the roof is a thrill.

It's a thump of adrenaline and a smile, because I finally feel something. Danger. Realness. Everyone's so fake now- you're a fake friend, Trish is a fake manager, and Dez is a fake therapist.

I don't know when I came to terms with it. Dying has never been something I was afraid of, but I used to have things to hold me back.

I don't have a home anymore. No parents, no job, no music.. no you.

I left a note. It's at Dez's house. He shouldn't find until tomorrow. But I don't want to think about that now.

The roof is quiet at night.

I don't think I'm thinking clearly. It could be how unbelievably destroyed I am now; I'm sure in the inside of my head resembles a nuclear bomb testing site. It could be because I haven't slept in days; I dream about you, and that just makes it so much worse.

It's probably just from the medication I downed before I came up here.

The stars are really bright tonight. Its like they've all lit up in a goodbye salute just for me. My mouth curves up a little. At least something was here to send me off.

I inhale the cold, Miami air and run my fingers over the paneling on the roof. My hearts still thudding against my chest, but it's not as intense as it was before. No, it's not beating fast from excitement, or danger- what is that? It's..

Happiness. I'm happy, Ally. I'm happy for you. I'm happy it's finally over. Don't you worry; I'll be out of your hair soon.

I stand up calmly. I don't wobble, or tilt. My knees aren't weak, and I'm not shaking. I'm smiling. Its time.

I step up on to the siding the provides a few inches of protection to the roof. I look down at my toes (I took my shoes off ages ago) and look back up at the stars. I smile to them and wave goodbye.

I tilt downwards, to fall. I close my eyes, waiting. Any second now, I'd be gone. And that second before I fade- I feel like I'm flying. It's like soaring over a million mountains, no problems, no worries, just.. peace.

But something's not right. I'm not falling.

Why am I not falling? My eyes flutter open and suddenly I'm not on the side of the roof anymore. I'm sitting down- how did I get here? - And someone's holding my face. Checking my pulse- why are they doing that? I'm fine, I'm not sick. There's talking- who's talking? What's going on? I just want to die, please let me die.

Someone walks over to me and throws something on me. A blanket? Its warm- it smells like Ally. I start shaking from the sudden heat, and that's when I realize how cold it is up here.

My eyes finally start to move and flicker over to the body looking at me with panicked eyes- Ally. Ally? Why is Ally here? Why is she- is she crying? Who made her cry?

"Why are you crying?" I whisper, voice hoarse. I haven't talked in days. I forgot it had been so long. Feels like minutes. I'm supposed to be dead.

Ally takes in a sharp breath at my words and looks up through her tears. She catches my eyes and lets out a sob.

"What the hell where you doing?" Her voice cracks, eyebrows knitted together, tears pouring down her face. I resist the urge to reach out and wipe them off her face. I've never seen her cry this hard. Whatever happened must've really hurt her- I swear, if Dallas did something I'd kill him-

Ally moving closer to me and touching my face hesitantly interrupted my thoughts. Why was she being so careful? I'm not fragile; I won't break at your touch.

That's a lie, I just might shatter completely.

"Why are you here?" I say, a little bit louder than my last sentence. She looks up at me and I see something flare in her eyes- disbelief? Fear? I'm sorry, Ally. I'm a monster. Run away. Don't look back.

"Dez- Dez called me. 'Said- He said that- you- you- you where gonna jump. And- and- that you wan- wanted to- to die. He explained- every- everything. Oh, god, Austin, I'm- I'm sorry." She sobbed out. I looked back at her, not fully taking in what she was saying.

"Hm." I said, standing up and shrugging the blanket off my body. I stared at her shaking body, her tiny, thin, shaking body. "Well, don't worry, I'm fine."

Whether it was the adrenaline, or the constant voice in my head telling me "Jump. Jump. Jump." - something made me walk back over the roof top edge. I resumed my place that I had been forced to leave moments before, and looked back to the stars. It was still as stunning as earlier. You'd think that in Miami, of all places, that the stars would be blocked from view completely- because of how bright it is at night and all the exhaust fumes from traffic- but they still managed to shine through. Kinda makes you wonder if they're artificial, like everything else here.

I heard Ally calling my name, pleading with me to get down. I didn't want to live. Why couldn't they just leave me alone? Why couldn't everyone just leave me alone?

As I was getting ready to fall again, I was suddenly sharply pulled off the edge and dragged forcefully backwards. This wasn't Ally; this was someone stronger and taller.. Dez.

I don't know why I had an anxiety attack. Maybe because I had watched my dad brutally attack my mom in drunken rage, which is now sending her towards her demise as well. Maybe it's because I kept getting interrupted while trying to accomplish a task that was going to make everyone's life so much easier.

Whatever it was, in that moment, I felt more scared and threatened then I had ever felt in my entire life.

I twisted and turned my body deliriously, hitting Dez, punching him, pushing- everything in an effort to break the steel cage that was now his arms. I just wanted to be free- I just wanted to jump.

"Let me go Dez!" I sobbed. "Please let me go, please just let me go!" I begged, almost screaming. He didn't flinch- He just kept still, holding me in his arms as I turned slowly from a maniac to a sobbing, broken mess in his arms. I don't know how long I stood there in my best friends embrace, utterly hopeless. I could feel my whole body becoming weak, my legs starting to shake, my breathing getting ragged, and the familiar pounding in my head that was slowly wrapping around my mind.

The adrenaline was wearing off. The voice in my head was fading away.

I had been about to kill myself.

The impact of that realization sent my body still- the numbness replacing thrill quicker than stepping off that roof would've been.

I stopped moving, my eyes fell closed, and I passed out.

* * *

hehe i continued it for you guys. enjoy the next chapter!

love you all x


	2. my lungs will fill and then deflate

I'm so excited to say I've decided to make this story a little bit longer. Thinking three to four chapters in total. I'm kind of obsessed with writing this. Its so much fun.

this chapter is written to the song "To Build A Home" by The Cinematic Orchestra. I highly recommend you listen to the full version of this song while you read it.

(heads up: this is from Ally's point of view)

and yeah yeah _i know i know_ there's some grammatical errors. i try **really** hard to make sure they are all flushed out and my story is readable and not absolutely horrible, but i am _just one_ _person_. i check my work on notes, then on here, then on word, and then** again** on here. sorry for any mistakes i didnt catch.

(ps- YES i'm a loner and wrote that using bold and italics because it's a free country and i can)

(pps- YES i'm super bored and procrastinating a new story and the third chapter to this)

(ppps- if you're still reading this then YES there is a third chapter in the works)

(pppps- fine YES i'll give you a sneak preview- see next line)

(ppppps- bubbles)

(pppppps- YES that was the preview a gooooooooodbyeeee)

* * *

_"And, I built a home  
For you  
For me  
Until you disappeared  
From me  
From you"  
_

* * *

When I was little, I had a porcelain doll that sat on my chestnut dresser resting against the wall across from my bed.

She was beautiful; adorned in a velvet, crimson dress with white lace sowed on to the edges, with her brunette ringlets curled around and round- like the giant slide at the fair you always wanted to go on, but you where to short to take a turn- that softly fell upon the sleeves of the fabric that clothed her. She had a fair complexion, almost as white as my own. Her cheeks where the color of the pinkest roses, which made her crystal blue eyes sparkle in her little glass face. She was practically perfect- from her permanently happy, plush lips, to her little black leather shoes and pretty socks.

She would sit on that dresser day and night, smile never-fading, perfection never-ceasing. She never stopped smiling- even when everything got tough, she'd still be happy; even when the darkest of days where threatening the world, she'd be the beacon of light to make everything clear.

She was a constant in the world of inconsistencies.

But one little bump, one little change, one little inconsistency in her consistent world was all it took for my porcelain doll, which sat on my chestnut dresser resting against the wall across from my bed, to come tumbling down.

One mistake was all it took for her permanent happiness to shatter on the floor.

I cried for hours when she broke; it was my fault that the little glass girl lay in pieces in my adolescent hands. Her eyes didn't sparkle, her cheeks lost their glow, and her hair was tangled with pieces of her fair complexion.

But she didn't cry. She was broken and unfixable; she would never complete again. But she didn't cry.

I'm not crying now- sitting in this white room, with my hand clasped tightly on my lap, not moving.

I'm not crying now because I know that I'm the porcelain doll.

Trish thinks I'm depressed, Austin. Me? Depressed? Please.

The bags under my eyes tell a different story.

You look so peaceful- I've never seen you like this. I've seen you so happy you wanted to scream with joy. I've seen you so mad you felt like you had to move a mountain to calm down. I've seen you so broken that I knew I'd never be able to fix you, no matter how much glue, tape, and dedication I had.

I've just never seen you so.. relaxed. At ease.

You'd hate the outfit they've put you in- it's awful. Its nothing compared to the standard leather jacket, plain t-shirt, skinny jeans, and a brand new pair of sneakers (I swear, I think you have a new one for every day of the year) I've gotten so used to you wearing. It washes out the bleach blonde that colors your abandoned mop of hair that resides on your head. I can tell my looking at it you haven't had it cut recently- it's so long; it's almost completely covering your eyes.

There's only one chair in your room here. Its nothing special- a metal frame with thin leather pads on the seat and the back. Its white, of course. Everything here is white. I don't understand that about hospitals- it's like their trying to block out the fact that this place is where the sick are held captive by covering everything with the most innocent and purest color in existence.

I can't tell you how long I've been sitting here, in this chair, by your bed. Half the time I'm looking at you, trying to soak in all the details, trying to remember everything about you. The other half, I don't really know what I'm staring at. My head fills with all kinds of pointless thoughts and images until I'm not thinking anymore. Everything has kind of blurred together into one color and one noise, and that's all I see or hear for hours on end.

I think I'm losing my mind here.

I haven't eaten in two days. They bring me food, Trish and Dez. But you can't eat anything- so why should I?

When your parents visit, I have to move from my chair. They don't know I practically live here now; if you call living blankly staring at the wall while you watch your best friend die slowly in a coma he was supposed to wake up from three days ago. My head's throbbing with the reoccurring worried words of your doctor. Its scary, knowing that one person holds the responsibility of your life in his hands. If he wants to, he could kill you, Austin.

I know what'd you say if you saw me. "I'm fine Ally. Get some sleep. You need it more than me."

But all I need is my best friend back.

If you want to know, I can't tell you what happened after you passed out. When I was living through it, everything was going in slow motion- your body going limp and the hysterical call to 911. The blinding lights of the ambulance and the neon colored outfits of the paramedics all trying to save you.

Drug overdose, they said.

I cried. Dez cried. Trish cried. Your mom screamed, your dad was hyperventilating. My dad had to hold me down at one point because I almost chased after the ambulance that carried you away from me.

I don't really remember it now. My mind has closed the giant metal doors in front of the scariest moment of my life and it's not allowing anyone in.

They say you don't know what you've got until its gone. And maybe that's true.

But you aren't gone yet, Austin. I can hear the steady beeping that indicates every heart beat that pumps blood throughout your body. I can see your chest moving up and down as you breath in oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide.

According to science, you're alive.

But I think you've been dead for a long time.

My whole body is stiff and sore. I'd move and stretch, and try to get the blood following to my body again- I'm just afraid that if I move, I'll realize that I'm not okay. Because I'm not. I'm really not okay.

I don't want to talk about Dallas; not now, not ever. That conversation will come up one day, when you've fully recovered and you don't need a machine to help you live. But not today.

You don't know what he was like, Austin. I should've told you the truth all along- I should've never given in to his blackmail, I should've protected you and myself from his evil ways- but I couldn't. I didn't want to risk everything you've accomplished just because I felt like I could save the day.

Did you know that my favorite game to play growing up was superhero?

I'd take an old, tattered, white sheet and tie in around my neck for a cape. I'd stand of the highest surface I could manage- typically the coffee table in our living room- and try to save everything. I'd pretend my dog was going to be obliterated by a meteor shower and I'd bravely risk my life to save his; I'd try to save my imaginary friends from the inevitable peril of a speeding train or a deep chasm that separated on couch from another; I'd attempt to rescue my cat from a tree, only to be rewarded with scratches and hisses in return.

I tried to save everything when I was little because I wanted everyone to be happy in my little world.

That's why watching my parents slowly fall apart and crumble destroyed me. The monster it gave birth to sat inside my heart and ate any sort of strength or willpower I had. Suddenly, playing superhero wasn't just playing superhero- it was escaping to a world in which I could mend everything, because my reality was already too broken to be saved.

When my parents finally gave up trying to save their love, I gave up trying to save the world.

Ally Dawson- the brave, beautiful, courageous superhero- morphed into the scared, silent, serious Ally Dawson that tried to hard to hide behind her piano and dark hair.

And when that new version of Ally was given the opportunity to save her best friend, she didn't even try to be a superhero. The monster that ruled her life (which had been successfully beaten down to a pulp just a year before) slowly began to rise from its ashes.

But the black creature wasn't just in my heart anymore. It was in my head, eating away at my sanity.

You need to realize something.

You didn't just attempt to kill yourself that day, Austin.

You attempted to kill us both.

I'm sitting here, in this white room, on this metal chair, with my hands clasp in my lap, looking at your peaceful figure die. And I'm dying with you.

You aren't alone, Austin. You're never alone.

Even in death.

I don't know how my hand moved from its position it had cemented in my lap to its new one- inside your limp and unresponsive hand. I slowly threaded my skinny fingers through your thicker ones like I was weaving a spider web out of golden silk.

My cold hand on your cold hand wasn't awkward and uncomfortable- it was almost cliché how comforting it was to be able to feel you in some way, shape, or form. The first day we were allowed to come see you, I didn't even get close to the bed. I was scared that if I came in a five foot radius of you, that you'd break.

In my mind, you had died. On the night I found you, standing on the edge of the roof, waving absent-mindedly to the stars- you died.

So seeing your breathing body lying on a bed less than ten feet away from me was like seeing a ghost.

But you weren't a ghost. You where a breathing, living human being who had just been saved by a chance of fate. If the paramedics would've been just a minute later, I'd be at a funeral, not a hospital.

But if they where a minute earlier, you might not be a pale, lifeless, body on a white bed. You might be in the practice room, running your fingers over the piano as you pour out your heart into music to try and repair yourself. And I'm there, and I'm going to try and repair myself too.

Thoughts like these are always misleading. I feel like ball of warmth and excitement start rolling in my stomach; it's unfamiliar and unwelcome, but I know the feeling by heart- hope.

I get too happy, and I have to remind myself that there's a significant chance you could die any second.

But holding your hand was a reminder that there was 2% chance you could live through all of this.

Feeling your hand twitch in mine was a warning that you where waking up.

It took me about 60 seconds to process the fact that your cold hand- which, only moments before, had been as unresponsive as a dead man buried six feet underground- had just moved.

It took me about 120 seconds to remember how to work my body again and call for the nurses.

But it only took me 5 seconds to start crying when I heard you say my name.

"Ally?"

* * *

can't promise any updates soon- sometimes an idea just comes to me (like the porcelain doll thing) and i write for hours on end without stopping.

sometimes i dont have any ideas at all.

so we'll see how everything turns out.

reviews are always the best part of my day. you all are amazing (:


	3. they fill with fire, exhale desire

My little one shot is now a three shot! and probably a four shot? (and maybe a five shot- shots shots shotsshotshotsshotsshots EVERYBODY)

OKKKAAAAY it's super late and I'm tired. But I present to you the third chapter of my baby. Please be gentle on it and handle it with care, and it may love you back.

maybe. or it may be cruel.

* * *

_When I'm looking past the silken sheets_  
_Take a breath to notice I'm between_  
_Every little piece of threaded memories_  
_That constitute your dreams_

_If I wake in the morning_  
_I only need two more miracles to be a saint_  
_Everything I promised everyone I'd be_  
_Well I just ain't_

_Lately it seems like_  
_Everybody's sick, everybody's died_  
_Build myself a wall up on happy highs_  
_Know in my heart that my head is lyin__g_

* * *

The thing about bubbles is that they always pop.

Bubbles are probably the most overlooked phenomenon in the world- it's practically a sphere made out of stretched soap, reflecting rainbows and colors off of it's see-through wavy like surface, endlessly drifting through the world. Take ten seconds right now and just stop and think about bubbles and how tragically over looked they are. Think about the beauty and the spectacle- think about what makes a bubble and why it's there. Amazing, right?

All you have to do to create this gravity defying creation is to simply blow air into a small hole, forming something that has provided amusement to all ages for decades. Younger children just see the bubbles and squeal, frantically waving their tiny, chubby hands around and running about, trying with all their might to smash the floating shapes out of the sky. Tweens and young teenagers scoff at the idea that a simple bubble could be so fun- because it's just a bubble, right? There are much more important things in life than a simple bubble, floating away in the breeze. Ask anyone older, though, and it suddenly becomes a lot more meaningful and symbolic. This single, simple little bubble stands for childhood and play dates and the spring. It stands for cleaning and laughter and giggles. Thing's you'll never get back- innocence, summer nights, and old friendships.

But most of all, it stands for freedom.

Freedom is something that we, as humans, have strived for since the beginning of time. We've always wanted to be free from everything- from our fascination with flying, to our epic quest to scale the moon. Humans need the feel like they are free from everything- regret, worry, pain; the list never ends. Once we've felt that exhilarating feeling of being free from the shackles of life, we know that we have achieved something. We work hard our entire lives for freedom, and when it is awarded to us, we feel a new sensation of utter completion.

I figure that's how I feel right now.

It's strange- I'm floating, wondering, uncontrollably shifting around in empty space.

But I don't feel lonely, or sad, or empty. I feel complete.

I feel free.

See, the thing about bubbles is that they always pop.

While they represent everything freedom stands for, they stand for something else, something much more darker than the concept of our life long reward- life itself.

How long does a bubble usually last for? Five seconds, ten? You can't come up with an estimate, because every bubble pops at different times. Some float high into the sky, only to be popped by the pressures of the atmosphere eating down on it. Some are blown straight into the ground and instantly pop- only lasting for mere seconds. They are each so fragile; these soapy spheres are more delicate and easy to break then the tip of a newly sharpened pencil during a multiple-choice test. Each bubble is so beautiful, so pure and clean and innocent- but every shiny circle in the sky has to burst. Like we all do.

Humans are so beautiful and amazing, but they are so unstable and breakable. One tiny shove, one little push, and suddenly, we're gone. That's our curse. We all live in fear that every day will be our last, paranoid of the dangers our life presents us. That's why we have to work hard and strive for freedom- if we weren't so breakable, freedom would be a lot less rewarding and easier to get.

I feel free right now because I know I can't get hurt.

I didn't even know if there was a me to be injured- I was surrounded by absolutely nothing, no colors, no noise, just fuzziness and static.

Every now and again I would hear random sounds coming from somewhere- voices I didn't recognize, and voices I felt I should recognize. Where I should've felt emotion, there was a consistent hollow sensation.

Everything was the same. Everything that ever was and would be was exactly identical. Nothing was different in my mind, and I couldn't care less.

Then everything changed.

Voices and noises became louder and more repetitive. I felt the static shifting and morphing as colors started to dance all over the blankness that had once been the only thing I could see. Sparks of sensation and feeling echoed throughout my head and lit up all the sleeping parts of my once dormant brain. It was overwhelming and energetic, and I couldn't figure out why everything had taken such a sudden turn.

The hollow feeling was now being controlled by emotions I felt like I was experiencing for the first time- confusion, panic, worry. It was as if I was being born again, but I was old enough to understand what was going on and fully aware that something was terribly wrong.

The numbness that had enveloped my body like a fur blanket was suddenly yanked from me, leaving my helpless figure naked to the pain. Burning, white hot knives jabbed themselves into every inch of my body, as my breath was being sucked out of body by a vacuum that had been stuck down my throat. I wanted to fail my arms out, scream for help, gulp in air; I wanted to live. But I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

I had just come back to life, and now life was being pulled from me. Not metaphorically, either- I could feel myself getting pulled away from my fragile body, my whole spirit being dragged out of my dying self. My eyes flew open and I could see everything.

And it was weird.

I was surrounded by a room- a very white room- that I had never seen before. There was a desk attached to a wall with papers scattered all over it haphazardly. There where balloons and chocolates and presents on the desk as well, overflowing on to the floor. "Get Well Soon" cards where practically covering every surface, and there where so many flowers scattered around that it looked like a jungle had grown in this ugly, basic room. Across from the plethora of presents and papers, was a single window. I couldn't see outside of it, because the blinds had been drawn down as tight as they could be, as if to not let a single ounce of light into the room. I craned my head towards the window, hoping to be able to find a clue as to when or where I was somewhere, but I realized my vision was blocked by something- no, someone.

There was a girl sitting in a very uncomfortable metal chair in front of the window. She looked pale and lifeless- with no emotion on her face what so ever. Her big brown eyes, which I somehow knew should've held all the life in the world and then some, where empty and dull. It was frightening- it was like looking at a corpse in a chair.

But she was beautiful. I wanted to call out to her, to talk to her- but I couldn't speak.

My heart started to ache with longing as I realized that I should know who this girl is. There was something that tied me to this girl, something important, something I couldn't recall to save my life. But there she was, in front of me, looking forlorn and out of place in this room that was beginning to resemble Hell.

Maybe I've died and this _is_ Hell. Five seconds ago, I died, and now I'm here. This was my punish for eternity- I could stare at the poor, broken, beautiful girl in front of me, who needed my help, but I couldn't talk to her and figure out why she needed it in the first place.

Then the girl blinked.

One blink, one movement from her, and I knew for sure that this wasn't Hell. She was alive, and I could still save her. I couldn't talk to her, and she couldn't see me- but I could still save her.

I focused all my energy in my head and willed my body to slowly step forward. I couldn't feel myself physically moving, but I knew I had. I was closer to this girl, and that's all I wanted. Slowly, little by little, I ended up beside this frozen body. I looked straight into her eyes, hoping to see something, to find some emotion- but I was only greeted with an image reflected in her eyes that made my heart stop cold. She wasn't just staring at nothing like I had previously imagined; she was staring at a body. A body that lay on the bed right beside her chair. How did I not notice that? Had she really caused me to stop thinking clearly enough to notice that there was another person in the room? Probably her lover, someone she cares for, loves even. That would explain why she was so unresponsive and dead-like. So, I looked at the body.

And it was me.

I felt my mind start to turn circles as I tried to figure what was going on around me. How was I here, and how was I there? Who was this girl, and why was she with me? Why was I dying, why was I dead, what was going on?

I shook my head quickly, trying to free myself of all the questions. It didn't matter- no, of course it mattered, but there where more important things that I needed to worry about. First things first, this girl.

I tried desperately to reach out and touch her face, but my hand didn't affect her. She had no response to my touch or my actions. Everything I tried didn't work; I had no clue what to do. I looked back at my body, pleading with myself for answers, desperately trying to figure out what I needed to do. I studied myself for any signs or hints on how to bring this girl back to life and how save myself as well- I didn't want to get stuck as this ghost, I just wanted to be normal again. I wanted to see that girl look at me and for me to look back at her and see something in her face. Emotion, anything. I wanted to see her eyes light up and I wanted to feel her hold my hand-

It was as if a light bulb had sprung to life in my head and the darkness of this problem had been illuminated. One last idea, one last concept, one last hope still existed in my head- it was a long shot, but it was something.

And something was better than nothing.

Carefully, I let one of my ghostly hands find her hand and I began to lift it slowly, until it was about the same height as the bed. Taking my other hand, I grabbed my own hand and turn it over so it faced upwards. Without breaking movement or pausing, I connected both the hands until the broken girl was united with the broken boy.

I whispered a prayer I knew only I could hear that they would complete each other and everything would be brought back to life. I watched her face, looking and searching desperately for signs of anything and I felt my heart leap with the most resounding joy when I saw her eyebrows mash together in confusion for only a spilt second, only to be replaced with a small, sad smile that broke out on to her pretty face, shattering the dead look it had once adorned. I wanted to study and stare at the smile for the rest of my life- hell, let me be dead if I get to see her smile like that for the rest of her life- but I could feel myself being pulled away again. I wanted to resist it, to fight it; I wanted to stay with her and make sure she was okay. But I was slowly getting farther and farther away from her, and everything was fading away from sight.

The blankness returned, but this time, I didn't want it. I wanted her.

The next ten seconds of my life consisted of the most intense internal battle I had I ever fought. Bombs exploded, bring sprays of color and thoughts and pictures fleeing into my mind before dancing their way out quickly again. Loud noises generated by my head filled my sights and senses, trying to get me to stay unconscious and unaware. Trying to get me to stay free.

But I didn't want to be free anymore. Because now I had something to fight for- some unknown girl that might not even be there when I wake up- she might not even be real.

There was a chance that she was, though, I knew I couldn't let myself fall victim to the freedom that called me in anymore. With one last effort, I forced my eyes open and quickly hissed at the burning light from the bright room. My eyes where blurry and unfocused, and I felt like someone had covered them in Ceram wrap just to block me from seeing anything. I blinked rapidly, letting my head drop from side to side until they finally cleared and focused on a sight that made me want to dance with happiness- there, in a very uncomfortable looking chair, sitting by my bedside with her tiny hand interlocked with mine, was a very alive version of my very un-alive girl. She looked happy, hopefully, and her eyes where shining.

"Ally?" I croaked, voice cracking. My eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Where did I get Ally from? The girl beside me nodded as if she was accepting the name from me, and I shook my head a little in confusion and focused back on her.

"It's Ally, right? I'm sorry, but I feel like I should know you somehow.." I said, my voice hoarse and screaming with hatred at me for using it. The girl's- Ally, I guess- eyes went big before tears welled up in them and panic sunk into my chest. What did I do to make this beautiful person cry?

"Oh, I didn't mean to make you-" I started to apologize, before she cut me off quickly with her quiet voice. If I hadn't been looking at her, I wouldn't have even realized she talked.

"You don't know who I am?" She asked, almost in a whisper. I nodded slowly, before she let at a quiet sob, and then suddenly slipped off her chair, collapsing onto the floor.

* * *

.. i'm sorry..?

hehehehehehehehe nope i'm not

you know what would be a big help? your ideas! comment your ideas, questions if you're confused or lost (it's a confusing chapter, I know), or if you'd just like to review it and tell me what you think, that's amazing as well. I love you all so much and I want to thank you for reading this story. this story is a turning point in my life and I wanted to thank you all for being there for me on this journey into my next chapter.

love you guys x


	4. updates

So, I just want to update you all about the current situation and why I have not lived up to my promise I made in august about posting a fourth chapter.

Basically, over the summer, I fractured a bone in my right hand, which I use primarily to type and write, as it is my dominant hand. Unfortunately, even though it was casted for 5 weeks, I still had severe pain and swelling all up my arm. At first, the doctors thought I had tendonitis, which is a inflamed (swollen) tendon in the wrist. But now they think it could be carpal tunnel syndrome, which would require a surgery, and I wouldnt be using my hand for 6-12 weeks prior to the operation.

The reason I havent been updating my story is because I'm so stressed out with the wrist thing. And I'm in my junior year of high school, which is by far a student's most important one, and I'm currently doing poorly at school.

Writing is my safe haven. I plan to return there by as soon as next week. I just want to let you all know so a witch hunt wasnt a established and none of you gave up hope on this story.

THE FOURTH CHAPTER WILL BE PRIMARILY ABOUT AUSTIN

I wanted it to be more Ally centric in the middle chapters so you could see that she is dying inside as well.. dont kill me for that. Ally is important too.

But Austin is the main character. And it will return that way in the last installment of this story.

I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH.

Jenna Michelle x

(ps did anyone else watch the season finale and die inside? I actually cried at school on monday because i couldnt take the pain)


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